


pablo neruda was wrong

by zauberer_sirin



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Drabble, F/M, Future Fic, Realization, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-06
Updated: 2016-12-06
Packaged: 2018-09-06 23:50:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8774572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zauberer_sirin/pseuds/zauberer_sirin
Summary: Daisy Johnson hates that crappy poem.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BrilliantlyHorrid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrilliantlyHorrid/gifts).



It’s not like she begrudges him for falling asleep on her. But she wishes she had someone to talk to. It’s a long drive from their super secret mission and she’s driving him back to SHIELD (it’s weird, thinking about SHIELD and not thinking about it as hers) and he can’t take a Quinjet because that’s part of the super secret mission. They have to go unnoticed.

And it’s been a rough last 48 hours and Daisy is glad he is getting some rest - it’s been rough on him and he looks so different sleeping with his head to the car window, he looks calmer than she’s seen him in… years, probably. Content. It makes her wonder what he looks like when he is happy. She doesn’t think she’s seen him really happy. So part of her is relieved to see him catch a break, or that he feels comfortable enough to fall asleep in her presence. And she is happy to help him get home and keep him safe in the meantime. It was her mission and he was just helping her out, so the least she could do is this, really.

His skin looks softer when he sleeps, Daisy notices this. When he’s not in constant tension. He really has long eyelashes, doesn’t he? She notices this too.

But the drive is still long and boring and the radio stations kept being annoying until she had turn it off and she wishes she had someone to talk to.

No, not _someone_.

She wishes she could be talking to Coulson all the time instead.

When she was a young kid she spent a lot of time in public libraries, especially once she was in her teens. When you don’t want to go to school and you don’t want to go back home either New York public libraries are great places to kill time. They’re warm and nice, and they even have computers, which was perfect for her. It also meant she got to read quite a bunch of books in those days, idling going from section to section picking anything that sounded vaguely entertaining.

The thing is, she even picked up a poetry book once, by Pablo Neruda, who is supposed to be this super romantic writer. But there’s this very famous poem that always pissed Daisy off, about how he liked his lover when she was quiet. Daisy always thought: what kind of love is that? That’s just crappy, a really awful thing to say about someone who you’re supposed to be in love with. She couldn’t imagine hearing that about herself and thinking it’s something positive, that someone loved her because she wasn’t talking at all. That poem was so offensive, and Daisy always secretly believed it was also pretty misogynistic. She knew what kind of men like their women silent like this. It’s just not romantic to her.

Because, if you really love someone… wouldn’t you want them to be talking to you at all times?

_Oh_.

“Oh,” she says out loud.

Coulson wakes up with a start, even that tiny sound enough to disturb him.

“Nothing,” Daisy says to him, trying not to smile. “I just realized something.”

“What?”

She’s really trying not to smile. “I’ll tell you when we get home.”

Coulson nods, sits up properly for a moment. She watches from the corner of her eye as he rubs his eyes like a kid. It’s endearing in a completely new way.

She is not even sure if he will feel the same way, she is just happy to have realized. Happy with the knowledge.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to take a nap on you like that,” Coulson says, sounding disappointed at himself for real.

“It’s okay, you were tired. And I was the one who dragged you out there.”

“Yeah but… I shouldn’t have let you alone.”

“Hey, stop apologizing.”

“It’s not just for your sake,” Coulson adds, yawning. His voice sounds like he is not completely awake yet.

“No?”

He closes his eyes again, his long eyelashes fluttering (now that she notices), leaning against the door again, shifting like he is making himself comfortable to continue sleeping.

“I wanted to talk to you…”

“About what?” Daisy asks. He probably won’t remember this, but it’s amusing.

He shrugs a bit.

“Nothing. I just wanted to talk to you…mmm… talk… all the time”

Soon his breathing tells Daisy he has fallen asleep again.

She smiles. See? Pablo Neruda was so wrong.


End file.
